


Snowed In

by FictionalKnight (Northern_Star)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-13
Updated: 2008-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/FictionalKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the World's Finest Gift Exchange. Prompt: <i>F03: Superman and Batman are trapped in a blizzard. Superman might lose some (or all) of his abilities temporaly. Happy ending please. Comicverse or movieverse(BB,TDK/SR) Hoping Slash</i></p><p>**This assumes that Superman and Batman know one another, and that while Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne know one another as well, neither actually know of the other one's secret identity.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

> For the World's Finest Gift Exchange. Prompt: _F03: Superman and Batman are trapped in a blizzard. Superman might lose some (or all) of his abilities temporaly. Happy ending please. Comicverse or movieverse(BB,TDK/SR) Hoping Slash_
> 
> **This assumes that Superman and Batman know one another, and that while Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne know one another as well, neither actually know of the other one's secret identity.

They were falling. Right out of the sky.

Rapidly.

Like two giant rocks, right down to the ground. And there was nothing Batman could do about it.

In less than ten seconds they would both hit the ground, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He grit his teeth and braced for impact.

The last thing that went through his head before he hit the ground was that, at least, their fall would be cushioned by all the snow.

=+=+=+=

 _A few minutes earlier..._

It looked like every weather-controlling super villain in the known universe had banded together and were now attempting to take over Central City.

Nobody knew exactly why. Why didn't matter anymore, anyway. What did matter was that someone stop these freaks. That is exactly why the Justice League had been called to the scene. And they were now well on their way to getting the situation under control.

Out of the corner of his eye, Superman saw Flash, running circles - literally and figuratively - around the Weather Wizard. An arrow, shot from somewhere up above, whizzed right by him. Then a bolt of lightning came crashing down, at Superman's right.

Suddenly, he heard someone shouting in pain. In a heartbeat, Superman turned toward the location of the sound, looking for its provenance. His eyes went wide in horror when he realized who had been hit.

Batman.

His armor appeared to be smoking. And Superman immediately understood what had happened: Batman had been hit full force by the bolt of lightning.

Without so much as a second thought, Superman headed over to him to assess the situation. From what he could see, although Batman had no broken bones, he was now too weak for battle. The blast had hit him square in the chest, melting some of his armor. Somehow, luckily, other than a few small, non-life-threatening burns, Batman had suffered no further injuries. But he wasn't fit for battle anymore, that much was certain.

"I'm getting you out of here," Superman told Batman, as he helped him off the ground.

"No, I'm _fine_!" Batman protested.

Superman frowned, giving him his sternest ' _I'm stronger than you, so don't argue with me_ ' look. "You're _not_ fine and I am _not_ leaving you here."

Batman grunted, though more from the pain of getting to his feet than from annoyance. "Okay, okay," he agreed. "I'll get out of the way. You go back. They need you."

"This isn't up for debate," Superman replied. "I'm taking you away from here. And you're going to come, if I have to carry you out screaming."

Without waiting for the Dark Knight's consent, Superman encircled his waist with one arm and with his free hand he forced Batman's arm around his neck, before lifting off the ground.

"I was afraid of that," Batman grumbled between his teeth, mostly to himself.

There was nothing he could do about it anymore. Besides, he was in pain and a lot more shaken by the blast than he wanted to admit. His brain wasn't exactly functioning on full thrusters, so while he absolutely despised being flown away from a battle scene - especially the _flown_ part - he allowed Superman to take him away.

In a blur of red and blue, they were gone. Superman had barely taken the time to tell his allies that he'd be back in a flash, once he'd gotten Batman somewhere safe.

Batman had been about to ask where they were heading, when he saw the expression of sheer pain on Superman's face. He immediately knew that something had gone wrong. Something had gone awfully wrong.

There was only one thing that Batman knew could cause Superman's face to crumple in pain like this. Kryptonite. And if there was any of that around, they were in a lot of trouble.

"What happened?" Batman asked in an urgent tone.

"Don't know," Superman replied with much effort. "Something hit me...on my side...burning."

Superman's eyes had rolled back in their sockets.

And they'd started falling...

=+=+=+=

 _Present time..._

They had fallen to the ground in a wooded area - somewhere. Both of them toppling over one another. Superman landing with his face in the pure white snow. He did not immediately move.

Alarmed, Batman rolled Superman over and brushed the snow out of his face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

There was no response. Superman was unconscious.

Batman tried to shake his friend awake, but that didn't seem to work. So, he checked him for injury.

And that is when he found it. A sliver of Kryptonite lodged in his hip.

Batman got a pair of tweezers out from his utility belt, and pulled the crystal out of Superman's side, before dropping it in a small lead container that he kept in another compartment of his utility belt.

Color started coming back to Superman's cheeks almost immediately, and his eyes fluttered open.

"How do you feel?" Batman asked. "I took out a piece of Kryptonite from your hip."

"Thank you." Superman's expression turned suddenly apologetic. "Are _you_ okay? We fell right out of the sky, didn't we? I'm sorry."

Batman shook his head. "I'm fine. It doesn't matter. Just tell me if you're hurt? Or at least, tell me you can get better now that the Kryptonite isn't lodged in your flesh anymore."

"I--" Superman frowned, his face crumpling in effort. "I seem to have lost all my powers," he finally said. His face wore the most pitiful expression that Batman had ever seen on him.

"How long until they come back? Do you have any idea?"

"No," Superman confessed. "This has never happened to me before. Usually they come back just as soon as there's no more Kryptonite around. This is...different." He frowned, looking at his hands, coming to terms with the fact that the world's strongest man was now only as strong as a normal human.

Immediately, Batman hit the button on his comm link and tried to contact their friends. But it didn't work. Either it was static because of the weather, or simply because the system had been damaged during the fall, he didn't know. The bottom line, though, was that it wasn't working.

"My comm link is dead," he told Superman, now starting to worry that they were probably in a lot more trouble than they would have been if they'd just stayed put and he'd gotten out of the way on the battlefield.

"Mine is too," Superman replied, having tried his as well.

The sun was setting rapidly, and it was starting to snow again - probably a result of what was going on just a few miles away. And while Batman could easily grab a compass from his utility belt, or even look at the stars that were coming out, to find out in which direction they should head out to find Central City again, he had no way of knowing exactly how far from it they were. Considering they were both injured - and that Superman was completely powerless - it seemed a lot more logical to try and find something close to here if they could, instead of trying to walk all the way back there.

Batman tried not to sigh. "Then I guess we need to get up and find a place to stay warm until your powers return, or the comm links starts working again."

He pulled out a pair of infrared goggles and scanned the surrounding area, looking for any manner of shelter he could find. He didn't care what type. Even a mineshaft would do fine, though he was pretty sure he wouldn't find out around here. As long as they could warm up a little while they waited, they'd be just fine.

Suddenly he saw something. He pulled the goggles away from his face, blinked, and looked through the infrared lenses again. Nope, it wasn't a hallucination; it was really there.

Just a little under a mile away, there was a house. Made of wooden logs, like an image on a postcard. But an actual _house_. They could take refuge there. It likely had heat, water, and probably even a phone.

Quickly, he put the goggles away. "We're going that way," he told Superman. "There's a house there. Think you can walk?"

Superman tried to get up on his feet and winced in pain. "I'll do my best," he said, his face still contorted with the effort of standing up.

"Hang on," Batman said, moving over to him. He placed one arm around his waist, the same way Superman had done with him before they'd left the battleground. "I'll help you. Just... hold on, okay?"

"You're injured, too," Superman stated. It sounded lame somehow, but he didn't know what else to say. He felt sorry for having to rely on an injured partner to be able to make it out to safety when he'd been the one who had insisted on taking said partner away from a battle, for the exact same reasons.

Batman looked at him, frowning. Ever the Boy Scout, he thought. Can't stand having to ask for help. "I can still walk, and we're both going to make it over there in one piece. Got that?"

Superman raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smile appearing on his lips. "Yes, sir," he said, with a mock salute.

And with that, they started in the direction of the house that Batman had seen.

There was well over two feet of fresh snow on the ground, which did nothing to help them make good time. And after some time of both doing their best to fight against the pain, the effort of supporting one another, and walking through so much heavy snow, it seemed like they would never get there at all. They'd made progress, but it looked like they'd made so very little. That, or the house was somehow getting further with every new step they took in its direction.

"Are you all right?" Batman asked, panting, when it seemed like Superman could barely lift one foot off the ground anymore. "We could stop a minute or two, if you need."

"I'm...all right...let's go," Superman replied, with much effort, his teeth chattering.

"Bet you're sorry now for wearing a spandex outfit, huh?" Batman said, in an attempt at humor.

"You have...no idea," Superman replied in what almost sounded like a chuckle.

Talking mostly to himself, Batman mumbled, "You're going to get hypothermia out here." He rolled his eyes. Silly metahumans and their spandex suits - didn't it ever occur to them that such a costume did nothing to protect them from anything at all?

"I'm sorry," Superman said lamely.

"Yeah, I am too," Batman replied absently. "Come on. Let's go. I'm not letting you die out here. That's not an option."

Superman attempted a smile. "You...always...this stubborn?"

"Only when it counts," Batman replied before he started walking again, pulling Superman along with him.

=+=+=+=

Batman wasn't sure how long it had taken them to get there - it felt like hours, though that was unlikely - but they had finally reached the house he'd spotted. He let out a sigh of relief.

"We made it," he told a barely even conscious Superman.

Slowly, Superman lifted his head and looked, but Batman could tell that he wasn't truly seeing anything at all.

"Hang on just a second," Batman said, extracting himself from under the other man's weight. "I'll see if we can get inside."

Superman grunted in response but said nothing. His eyes were dancing in their sockets, and he had the look of a sick, feverish man. He was clearly exhausted, and the effort needed to get all the way here hadn't helped him at all.

Batman took a step forward, then looked back at Superman, who lay on the ground in a heap, unable to stand up by himself. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, you hear?" he said in a loud, commanding voice. He knew that Superman would likely go into shock if he didn't stay awake. "Keep your eyes open, Superman. Come on."

Superman grunted again.

"Talk to me, dammit!" Batman said, sounding annoyed. He walked back and, after debating it for less than a second, he slapped Superman, who immediately seemed to come to attention. "Talk to me, and stay awake, okay? Just a minute. And then we'll be inside, and you'll be safe. Okay?"

"Yes...awake," Superman repeated. "I'm...awake..."

"Good." Batman turned and started messing about with the door handle. "Tell me something about yourself," he said, over his shoulder to the man behind him.

Through chattering teeth, Superman replied, "I'm...cold..."

"Yes, I know. I'm cold too," Batman replied. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I'm...hurt..."

"I said tell me something I _don't_ know," Batman shot back, still trying to get the damned door opened.

"You're...a good...friend."

Batman couldn't help but smile. He could allow himself to do that, anyway - there wasn't anyone looking. Finally, after desperately trying to pry the door open, it gave way. With a long sigh of relief, Batman turned back to Superman. There was a moment a panic when he saw that the man's eyes were closed.

"Don't fall asleep on me!" Batman ordered. "Not yet!"

"Not...asleep," Superman told him, opening his eyes.

The look in the Kryptonian's eyes was absolutely haunting. Like nothing Batman had ever seen before. He'd never seen this man seriously injured, or even truly suffering before - he was supposed to be invulnerable! If anyone was supposed to go down in battle, it was supposed to be the ordinary guys, like Green Arrow or himself, not Superman!

"Come on, up..." Batman said. In an afterthought, he added, "You know... up, up, and away. It's your thing, right?"

Superman grit his teeth, and then stood, managing to walk the three small steps he needed to take before he was inside. He fell to the floor of the cabin, immediately after crossing the threshold.

Sighing, Batman pulled him a little further away, then turned to kick the door shut. When he came back to the man he'd left lying on the floor he said, "I need you to do just one last thing for me. Think you can handle that?"

"What?" came Superman's response, in one long, painful whisper.

"You need to get out of these wet clothes."

"I don't...have...others," Superman told him. His face now bore the look of a lost puppy, and this, more than the previous look he'd given Batman, was so terribly un-Superman-like that it made Batman feel completely helpless and lost.

Regaining his senses - his logic, mostly - Batman simply barked, "Just strip. And then get in that bed over there." He pointed over to the furniture barely three feet away.

"Yes, sir," Superman replied with another mock salute, though he wasn't nearly as convincing this time.

When it didn't look like he was going to comply, Batman used his sternest, most commanding voice and said, "Strip. Now! Don't make me go over there and rip the suit off of you."

Superman let out a chuckle. "Didn't know...you were so eager...to see me...naked," he said, as he started taking off his wet spandex costume, made stiff by the freezing cold.

"Shut up and strip," Batman replied, heading over to the fireplace that stood in another corner of the cabin. At least, he thought, if Superman was making jokes, it meant that he was starting to feel better. Right? He held on to that shred of hope as he busied himself trying to get a fire started.

Superman spoke again, through chattering teeth still. "Shouldn't we...check...if someone...lives here?"

"There's no heat, there's no electricity, there was a foot of snow in front of the door, which was all but sealed shut," Batman stated, matter-of-factly. The trained detective in him had done a full survey of the place, from the moment they'd walked up the front door. "Do you really think anyone has been here lately?"

"Sorry, forgot..." Superman said as he slipped between the covers of the bed. "World's Greatest...Detective. You're always...in character...aren't you?"

His teeth were still chattering and the noise was now starting to annoy the hell out of a very tired, very weak Batman.

"Yes," he replied, frustrated, "That's how come I'm still alive."

The firewood that had been left on the side of the fireplace was humid - probably because of the cold - and it wasn't catching fire at all. He'd never get this place warm at all. Oh, sure, they were indoors, which meant that it was a little less cold in here than it was on the outside, if only because there wasn't any wind coming through, but it was still freezing, and Superman was likely on the verge of a good case of hypothermia. Batman needed to get this damn fire started.

After a few minutes of trying, it looked like he finally had a small fire going. Maybe luck was on their side, after all.

"You still with me?" he called out to Superman, who hadn't said a word in a while. If he'd fallen asleep, or gone into shock, Batman would never forgive himself!

"No..." Superman replied, in a sleep-laden voice, "I'm...dead now."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Batman shot back, as he walked over to the bed and started shedding his armor.

Eyes barely opened, Superman replied, "Admit it...you like...that you're smarter...than me." He looked like he had a shadow of a smile on his lips, but Batman wasn't really sure if perhaps he was imagining it.

"You _are_ smart," Batman finally said, sliding under the covers as well. "But you're an idiot sometimes."

"What are you...doing?" Superman asked, his eyes now wide in confusion. Batman had apparently removed his armor - save for his mask - and was getting into bed with him? Superman's couldn't think clearly enough for this to make any sense to him.

"Body heat," Batman replied very simply. "Transferring body heat."

Then, awkwardly, he got as close to Superman as he could, hugging the man's cold, wet body as closely as possible to his own. He started running his hands energetically over Superman's shoulder and arms to warm him up.

"Thank you," Superman said weakly. He looked up, eyes half-lidded.

"I'm not doing anything you wouldn't do for me," Batman said.

And it was true - he was convinced that Superman would never allow a friend to die, and Batman was just as determined to keep Superman alive. The world needed Superman; Batman needed his teammate. And if there was one thing Batman was good at, it was keeping his word - so when he'd told Superman that he wouldn't let him die, well...he wouldn't. Under no circumstances. Dying was not an option.

"How do you know?" Superman asked.

Sighing, Batman replied, "Because saving people is what you do. And you're going to keep on doing that. As soon as we get you back in shape, you'll go back to doing just that."

"You're a lot kinder than people give you credit for," Superman said, his eyes now fully opened, looking at Batman as if he'd never considered this about him.

"No, I'm just loyal to my friends."

Satisfied that he'd warmed the other man's upper body sufficiently for the moment, Batman ran his hands down Superman's back. He was shocked to realize that the man was fully naked.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and now avoiding rubbing the man's lower back with his hands, Batman complained, "You could have kept your underwear."

Somehow, when he'd told him to strip, he hadn't imagined that Superman would remove every piece of clothing he had - especially considering this guy was the embodiment of "clean and correct" - he'd figured he'd have kept his underwear, at the very least.

Superman shrugged a little. "You said to strip," he explained, somewhat lamely. "I listened."

"You know, if you were going to listen to anything I said, I wish you would have been listening when I told you to leave me alone on the battlefield earlier. Then we wouldn't be in this mess." Batman's voice was a little harsher than he had meant it to sound, but he was quite annoyed that Superman would fully comply to his orders, right down to the letter - or his briefs, in this case - but choose not to, when they actually made the most strategic sense.

In a whisper, Superman replied, "I'm sorry." He sounded absolutely sincere.

Batman shrugged, still trying to transfer as much of his body heat to the man lying next to him. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too," he said in a softer voice, though he hadn't once stopped using his typical, gravelly voice. "We'll get out of here, I promise you that."

"I know."

Batman grabbed one end of a thick blanket and pulled. He used it to try and dry off Superman's hair. "You can't fall asleep," he said. "So talk to me, okay?"

"Okay," was all that Superman managed as a response.

"Come on, talk to me..." Batman encouraged him. "Tell me something about yourself. I don't know, just...talk."

Superman looked up. His hair was all mussed and he looked absolutely nothing like the superhero Batman knew. He just looked like a man. One who happened to be freezing and who was likely in pain.

Frowning, Superman asked, "Why did you keep your mask?"

In a chuckle, and without much forethought, Batman replied, "For the same reason I kept my underwear."

"I don't understand," Superman said, his confusion obvious by the look in his pale blue eyes.

"Forget it," Batman replied, "It was a joke. My secrets are my own, that's all."

"You don't trust me," Superman stated in a detached tone of voice. It wasn't an accusation, just a realization. They had never shared their secret identity with one another - Batman might not even know that Superman was usually someone else, he thought. It wasn't as though the situation required secrets to be revealed, but... here _he_ was, as naked as the day he was born, his hair tousled and out of place, looking nothing like the Man of Steel, and he knew that if Batman tried even just a little bit he'd be able to figure out what his other identity was - Clark Kent had his picture next to his byline very often, after all - and yet the Dark Knight wouldn't even trust him now.

"I do trust you," Batman replied, bringing Superman out of his thoughts, "I trust you with my life - pretty much every day. But there are some things I...need to keep to myself. Besides, we're not talking about me, here. We need to keep you awake, not bore you to death, so you have to do the talking. Got that?"

"Fine, I'll talk," Superman agreed. "But what makes you think I won't bore _you_ to death?"

"Tell me about your life on Krypton," Batman encouraged him, "That must have been very different from here."

Superman's expression turned sullen for a moment. "I don't know," he replied simply.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean... I don't _know_." Superman sighed. He was exhausted, and as much as he understood that he needed to keep conscious, he wasn't sure that this was a topic of conversation that he liked too much. "I don't remember Krypton. I was still a baby when my parents sent me away in a spaceship - just moments before our planet blew up. I was raised here, on earth."

Batman frowned. "I had no idea," he said, now looking at the man before him in a completely different light. He'd always thought that Superman had been sent to earth as an adult to be its guardian in a certain way. Something similar to the Green Lantern corps. Batman had read that interview Lois Lane had written; he knew the basic facts, but beyond that, they'd never really ever talked about it. Not that he wasn't curious, but in a way he respected the fact that a man might have secrets - and he was entitled to them, just as much as Batman was entitled to his own.

"Of course you didn't," Superman said, shrugging. "It doesn't matter." He was mumbling now, and Batman wasn't really sure if it was because he was falling asleep, or because he was feeling sorry for himself...

Out of the corner of his eye, Batman noticed that the very small fire he'd been able to get going was now dying. He bit back a curse. "The fire is almost out," he said, getting out of bed.

He walked over to the fireplace. "Don't fall asleep," he instructed Superman, who simply groaned in response.

Batman tried frantically to get the fire going again, to get it to grow and stay up for as long as it would need to really heat this place up. They needed the heat if they were going to stay alive. Especially Superman, who had likely never fought against hypothermia in his life. The man was normally always invulnerable, and though everyone had heard of Kryptonite, and he knew that Superman had been exposed to it at least a few times, he had never completely lost his powers - or his invulnerability - before. He was so much more vulnerable than anyone else... Humans had antibodies to fight colds and infections with, but Superman had never had any need for those, so his chance of falling severely ill from exposure to the smallest form of virus were astronomical.

"You're not talking," Batman shot over his shoulder.

"You can torture me all you like," Superman replied, his voice so weak that Batman had to listen extra carefully in order to make the words out. "I won't talk."

Torture? He frowned. Was this an attempt at being funny, or was he lost in some feverish dream? Batman hoped that it was the former, even if it didn't sound very amusing at all, and he wasn't laughing.

For the next few minutes, Batman asked Superman any manner of question he could think of - what his favorite color was, his favorite food. Anything that wasn't terribly personal - he didn't see that he had any right to go there while Superman wasn't altogether conscious of his answers. He kept him talking, though Superman's replies were making less and less sense, and his words were mumbled and incomprehensible.

Finally satisfied that the fire was going on strong enough for him to return to his friend, Batman walked back to the bed. When he slipped under the cover he was faced with the realization that, from freezing cold, Superman was now burning up. His forehead was soaked with sweat. He was running a fever, Batman was now certain of it. And there was very little chance that he would find anything here to be able to get the fever down and help his friend get through it.

Well....there was always snow outside. And by the looks of it, there would be a lot more of that coming, too. When they'd gotten inside, it was snowing heavily, and the last time he'd looked out, it seemed like the conditions had deteriorated something serious - there was a blizzard out there.

Batman figured he could probably use a plastic bag - and he had a couple of those, stashed in his utility belt - get some snow, and place that on Superman's forehead, but would that even do him any good?

Fever wasn't usually a result of hypothermia, was it? He had no idea. And his computer, his databases full of all the knowledge he needed in situations like these, was miles and miles away, down in the Batcave, in Gotham City.

That, and his comm link was still not functioning.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: perhaps he hadn't removed _all_ the Kryptonite from the wound before. That would explain why Superman was getting worse instead of better, wouldn't it? Either way, it was worth it to check out the wound and make sure.

Scrambling to his feet, Batman grabbed the small flashlight he kept in one of the compartments of his utility belt. It was still functioning, thankfully. He refrained from grinning as he considered that one didn't necessarily have to be a Boy Scout to be _always ready_. He also grabbed the tweezers he'd used before, and headed back to his 'patient'.

When Batman threw the covers off of Superman, he was faced with a few certain realizations.

The first, and most important one, was that Superman had not reacted to this. And that was a bad sign. A very bad sign.

The second was that the man had the most perfectly sculpted body he'd ever laid eyes on in his life - and while he forced his mind not to go _there_ , he found it very hard not to. Even the skin-tight spandex suit didn't do him justice at all...

The third one had to do with the second, and Batman almost had to slap himself to keep from looking. Damn the Boy Scout for taking strictly all his clothes off!

Batman shook his head in an attempt to put all his thoughts back into order, and keep them away from....there. Because they weren't supposed to be going _there_. Not right now. Not when he was trying to save this man. He wasn't supposed to be thinking of these things at all anyway, not about this man. He chalked it up to adrenaline and exhaustion, and then, taking a deep breath, he moved closer to him - close enough for the task he was supposed to be doing.

Thankfully, Superman was lying on his right side, meaning that his left was exposed, and that was where his injury had been. Batman moved the beam of his flashlight over to the place where the sliver of Kryptonite had pierced Superman's skin. He bent down to look as closely as he could.

And there he saw it. It was barely the size of a splinter. Glowing a sickly shade of green, causing his friend to grow sicker even though it was apparently not enough to cause him the same sort of pain that a big chunk would. Or perhaps that was just because all his powers were already gone?

It didn't matter. The thing that did matter was that Batman dispose of the deadly crystal, make sure that there wasn't any other pieces of it anywhere, then dress the wound and...hope that Superman would eventually get back to being, well...super. And soon.

With his tweezers, he pulled out the splinter of green rock. Seemingly aware that the offending particle had been removed from his body, Superman replied with a low moan.

Batman swallowed hard, realizing that his mind was right back to that place where it wasn't supposed to go. He placed the piece of radioactive rock inside the same container with the other one, vowing to destroy them just as soon as he made it back to his lab. He bent down to look at the wound again, using the tweezers to help, and a piece of gauze to sponge off the blood. When he was satisfied that he couldn't find any more of the Kryptonite there, he dressed the wound.

Then, Batman went about to check the rest of Superman's body, for any other entry points, for any other pieces of that damned radioactive crystal.

Slowly - probably more so than he should have - Batman ran the beam of light from his flashlight over Superman's body, looking him over carefully for any sigh of injury. As he checked for any manner of nicks and cuts that he could find - there weren't much of those at all - he also ended up with a clear mental map of every last one of Superman's muscles; inventoried by shape, size, and by the way they rippled under his skin as Batman forced him to turn on his side.

When he helped him turn one last time so that he would be lying on his back, Superman let out a small sound, halfway beside pain and pleasure. As if burned, Batman shut off the flashlight and scrambled back to his feet. He shook his head sharply, trying to rid his mind of all the unproductive ideas that were being born there at the speed of light. He set the flashlight on the bedside table that was closest to his side of the bed.

Batman's mind stuttered. He didn't _have_ a side of the bed. Not in this one, anyway! And he was definitely not going to sleep in this bed tonight. Superman's temperature was high, he no longer needed Batman for extra body heat. Therefore Batman could just... sleep on the floor or something. Anywhere, it didn't matter. Just... not in that bed. Not anywhere close to that man. To that amazingly gorgeous man who was lying there... right _there_.

Yes. Batman would definitely sleep on the floor tonight. It was...better this way.

Just then, Superman stirred, mumbling something, which effectively pulled Batman out of his musings. He looked to Superman, his brow furrowed.

Oh. The sheet was pulled down. That was probably it, Batman figured.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, grabbed one end of the sheet and pulled it over Superman, tucking him in like he might have a child.

"I think it's safe for you to get some sleep," Batman said, absently brushing a strand of hair away from Superman's forehead.

Superman's eyes fluttered open for barely a moment, then mumbling he said, "Come back to bed."

"Yeah, I don't think that's such a good idea," Batman replied, half-chuckling. "Get some rest. I'll be, uh, right by the fire, if you need me. Okay?"

He started to turn and leave, but then he felt the brush of Superman's fingers against his own. From the feverish man came a low mumbling sound that might have been a word. A protest maybe, Batman couldn't tell. He looked to his hand, then over his shoulder to the man lying in the small bed.

This time, when Superman spoke again, it sounded like an actual word. "Please."

Batman's shoulders slumped and he sighed. He couldn't very well abandon him, could he? Not when he was sick and just about begging for a presence - even though Batman was mighty certain that Superman was too far gone to realize whom he was requesting a presence from. Besides, even though every fiber in his body told him that this was wrong and that he shouldn't climb into that bed, with that man, there was nothing Batman wanted more right now than to climb under the sheet. To feel Superman's body next to his. To hold him, to touch him, to--

He shook his head again. No! There would be none of _that_ going on. Touch was more than enough. It was too much already... He would allow himself to climb back into bed, but the line would be drawn. Right. There.

Besides, it was probably a better idea than for him to sleep in front of the fire. For one thing, his own injuries would certainly heal quicker if he got some actual rest tonight, and for another, he'd be able to keep a closer eye on Superman this way. If his condition worsened, he would know right away.

Batman went around the bed and, before he could change his mind again, he slid between the sheets.

He started kicking himself and wishing he'd changed his mind, the moment he felt Superman's weight shift on the mattress, and he turned, facing him. Batman could now feel his warm, regular breathing tickle the skin at the crook of his shoulder.

Cold sweat started beading at Batman's hairline, and he cursed the damn mask that he was still wearing. That stupid need to keep his identity to himself. Sure, it made sense to keep it from most people - that's why they referred to it as a _secret_ identity after all - but this was Superman... He was a friend, an ally, there wouldn't be much of a reason for this man to use someone else's secret identity against them, would there. And, hell, he was the world's biggest Boy Scout! But the thing was... well, for all Batman knew, Superman had a secret identity of his own - and if he wasn't ready to share the information, then why should Batman?

He was deep in thought, almost forgetting that Superman was just a few inches away, breathing on his shoulder, when he was forcefully pulled out of his musings. Superman had just swung his arm over him, and... and... he was cuddling him now.

A very naked Superman was... cuddling him.

For a moment, Batman thought he was going to spontaneously combust. He let out a frustrated sighed. Clearly, he _wasn't_ going to get much sleep tonight, after all.

Perhaps because he'd heard him, Superman lifted his head up and, with half-lidded eyes, he looked at the man before him.

Batman looked back at him and just about immediately did a double take.

Oh, hell. Could it really be?

He barely had time to look closely enough before Superman's head dropped back to its original position, with his lips brushing against Batman's skin.

The detective's first reaction was to see if he'd read the clues right and gotten to the right conclusion. Taking a deep breath, and using his normal speaking voice for the very first time since they'd arrived here, Batman put his theory to the test.

"Clark?" he asked in his normal speaking voice - his Bruce Wayne voice - and he awaited any sign that the other man had heard him.

The response that came was halfway understandable, something that had sounded like "Let me sleep."

So Bruce tried again. "You _are_ Clark Kent, aren't you?"

"whadayathink," came Clark's response.

Thoughts ran through Bruce's head at the speed of light. All pointing in the direction of the only logical, the only possible conclusion, which was that, yes, Clark Kent _had_ to be Superman. Not just because he looked like him, but because it explained so many things. For instance, how it was that any and every exclusive from the Man of Steel was always handed to either Lois Lane, or Clark himself. Bruce almost snorted at the idea of Clark interviewing himself for the paper.

Bruce hadn't seen it happening very often, but this explained how and why Clark would get this extremely awkward look on his face, excuse himself with the most ludicrous explanations, and take off - never mind if he was in a meeting at work, or at a black tie event - and sometimes, Bruce noted, he'd even come back wearing a different tie, possibly an entire different suit. He'd made a mental note of it, but hadn't paid enough attention to it, not thinking that this could mean anything besides the fact that the man was a klutz and he'd probably just ripped or soiled the garment, somehow.

Things were all starting to make sense now. A lot of sense.

And then Bruce actually did snort, when a thought entered his mind.... He had Superman on his payroll. Now, _that_ was ironic and crazy!

And then the unthinkable happened...

Clark had mumbled something more - and the fact that he'd apparently brushed a kiss on Bruce's skin as he did would probably have been enough, all on it's own, to make even _Batman's_ heart leap, and white hot desire start running through his veins. But this... This was...

This was probably a hallucination, Bruce sternly berated himself. It had to be. There was _no way_ Superman had just said his name. His real name.

Bruce.

It wasn't possible. Superman had no idea what his real name was - how could he? He'd probably said "Lois" or something. Yes, that was probably it. He was mumbling inaudibly, there was no way to be sure just what he'd said.

Bruce chuckled the thought away, telling himself there was no possible way Superman had just wished Batman goodnight, using his actual _real name_.

Clark stirred a bit at the sound, then rolled over and settled on his other side. When his breathing returned to its normal rhythm, indicating that he was well asleep again, Bruce decided that it would probably be safe to take off his mask. He'd put it back on later. Maybe. But for the time being, he wouldn't mind taking the thing off - it was more than hot under there; especially now that the fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the room temperature was getting a lot warmer.

Slowly, careful not to wake the man sleeping next to him, Bruce took off Batman's mask and set it on the ground beside the bed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, sighing with some relief. He put his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep - somehow.

Clark was now far enough away so that their bodies weren't touching, and Bruce guessed that this would certainly help take his mind away from all the thoughts and ideas he didn't want to have. Besides, knowing that this was _Clark_ \- as opposed to thinking of him as just Superman - would likely help, he thought. He wasn't in any way interested in Clark Kent, now, was he? Of course not. A klutzy, bumbling nerd? No, of course not. Knowing that this was Superman certainly did not make the man any more endearing. Absolutely not.

Instead of letting his mind wander any further, Bruce tried to concentrate on Clark's breathing. This, for the moment, was the only way for him to know if he was still all right - as long as his breathing was regular, it meant he was sleeping. Bruce knew that if he concentrated enough on the sounds and rhythms, he would be able to detect any change - even if he was sleeping himself, however lightly that may be. He often conditioned himself this way; to wake up at any specific noise, or anything specific happening around him. If Clark's breathing suddenly stopped being regular, he was confident that he would wake up.

So, eyes shut, his own breathing - and his thoughts - in a calm, normal pattern, Bruce drifted to sleep.

=+=+=+=

Bruce woke up several hours later. Clark was still breathing regularly, and hence he was still sleeping, Bruce knew. He reached out a hand and placed it on his forehead - his temperature felt normal. A good sign. That likely meant that there weren't any more traces of Kryptonite in his system, and now, hopefully, he'd get better. His powers would eventually return, and they could get the hell out of this place.

Just as Bruce was contemplating how long they'd be stuck here - last he'd checked his comm link was still dead and it might not work again - his stomach made a rumbling noise. He hadn't eaten in... he wasn't sure how long it had been, but it had been a long while for sure.

Satisfied that his 'patient' was apparently out of danger and doing well enough for now, Bruce decided it was safe to get out of bed. He eyed his mask on the floor, then decided against putting it back on. If Clark woke up and saw him, then so be it - if it had been anyone else, he would probably not have taken it off in the first place, but well... this was someone he knew - both in both his superhero and in secret identity - and if there was anyone out there that he could trust implicitly, it was certainly Superman. Either way, for now, the man was still sleeping and showed no signs of waking up. Therefore, Bruce wouldn't be seen - and he'd still have the option to change his mind later.

Bruce grabbed his flashlight, and headed toward the area that served as a kitchen. If he was lucky he'd find something there. Else he probably still had some ration-packs in his utility belt. He would be smart to keep those for later, though, and use whatever he could find here first. Ration packs could help, but they were nothing compared to actual, real food.

Fortunately for him, there were some cans in the small pantry. Beans, mostly, some fruit salad, and tomato sauce as well. There was a box of crackers, though the expiry date seemed to have been long passed. He also found some pasta, and, much to his satisfaction, there was even some coffee - instant, but still, coffee. Of course there was no running water, but... there was a lot of snow outside.

After having eaten over half a can of fruit salad, Bruce went to get one of the covers that had fallen off the bed. He threw it over his shoulders, and, armed with a saucepan, he went to gather some snow at the front door.

He melted more than enough to fill a jar with water for later use - after learning the hard way that a lot of snow makes for very little water - then set about to boil the rest of the water, so he could finally have some coffee.

He'd been sitting on front of the fire for a couple of minutes, when he heard noises coming from behind him. Mattress springs creaking, then yawning, more mattress springs, and finally, Clark getting to his feet and walking over to him.

Bruce wouldn't have a chance to rethink his decision to keep his mask off, after all, it looked like. He froze, not wanting to turn and look at the other man who was getting closer and closer now. Bruce felt a great deal of relief when he heard a rustling of fabric - Clark had apparently thought it wise not to be standing there in the altogether.

Clark's first words, in a thick voice, were, "You took off your mask?"

Bruce shrugged, the blanket slipping down a little bit on his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the pot he was holding up over the fire, careful not to burn his fingers.

"It gets hot under than thing," he said, very simply.

"I thought you didn't trust me?" Clark asked, still standing behind Bruce. He hadn't yet come close enough to be able to see the man's face.

"I changed my mind," Bruce replied.

"Oh?"

Clark still made no attempt to come and see for himself who Batman really was. Bruce wondered if he was just somehow a little afraid of finding out, or if he was just being considerate.

"We know each other," Bruce told him simply, shrugging again. The blanket slipped a little further down on his shoulders, revealing a network of interconnecting scars on his back. With one hand, he pulled the blanket back up again, his eyes still set on the fire and the pot, still not ready to reveal himself to Clark.

There was a sort of a chuckle. "Yeah, but that never stopped you from keeping your secrets to yourself before."

"No..." Bruce shook his head. "I mean we _know_ each other. As in when we're not wearing capes and a mask. We know each other."

Clark suddenly realized that Batman was no longer using his usual, gravelly voice. This was the man's normal speaking voice. The man behind the mask. He frowned, trying to remember where he might have heard it before, but nothing came. This would have been easier if his powers hadn't gone missing, of course - he would have caught all the small details in his voice and analyzed his speech pattern at super speed, then come up with the right answer. But right now he couldn't, and he wasn't certain who the man before him was.

Then, suddenly, Bruce turned his head and looked at him. And finally, Clark knew.

His eyes grew a little wider. Bruce Wayne? Was this a dream? Or perhaps he was feverish and hallucinating? His crime-fighting partner had somehow turned out to be one of the world's most handsome, most eligible bachelors. As if either side of him wasn't already attractive enough on its own...

Out of all the possible people Batman might have been, this was the last person Clark would ever have imagined. Batman was a brilliant detective, with an astute, logical mind; nothing at all like the frivolous playboy who constantly had his face on the front page of gossip magazines. He deserved an Oscar for his performance!

Bruce let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Disappointed, aren't you?"

Clark frowned, then came to sit by the fire, careful not to drop the bed sheet he had tied around his hips. "That's definitely not the word I'd use for it, no. I'm just... surprised I guess."

"Of course you are. You probably expected me to be some Hollywood stuntman, like the Lanterns apparently seem to believe. But no, I'm just some rich guy most people sort of hate. Not that anyone actually really _loves_ Batman anyway - that's not what _he's_ for."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit--" Clark paused abruptly, frowning. "I don't even know what to call you anymore," he said in a chuckle. "Batman is fine when you're...well, _him_. But I'm so used to calling you 'mister Wayne' otherwise. This is... odd."

Eyes still on the fire, Bruce absently replied, "Most of my friends call me Bruce." He looked up and added, "Even Lois does, as well as most of the Planet's staff." His eyes promptly returned to that spot in the fire he'd been surveying, as though he couldn't stand to look the other man in the eye for the time being.

"Lois flirts with you shamelessly," Clark let out, in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Bruce chuckled. "So does most of the Planet's staff."

Before he could think the best of it, Clark replied, "I try not to," in a soft, almost wistful whisper. When Bruce's head snapped up and Clark found himself looking into questioning blue eyes, he quickly added, "That-- uh, that didn't come out right at all."

Clark shrugged and looked over at the fire, and Bruce's hand holding the pan over the flames. Bruce's arm was shaking slightly.

Frowning, Clark looked over to him, "How long have you been sitting like this?" he asked.

Still a bit numb, though not from sitting there, Bruce replied, "I don't know. A few minutes. What does it matter?"

"Your arm is shaking from the effort to hold the pot over the flames," Clark told him very simply. "Here, let me."

With that, he extended his arm, intent on taking the pot. There wasn't a lot of handle left for him to grab, so he placed his hand mostly over Bruce's, though loosely enough for him to be able to slide it out easily enough.

"It's fine," Bruce argued, not letting go. "You need to keep your energy, not waste it holding a pot to boil water for _coffee_ , of all things..."

"And you don't need to be stubborn all the time," Clark said, shaking his head.

"Speak for yourself!" Bruce protested, though in a chuckle. Knowing there wasn't much of a point to keep arguing over it - the water would be boiling pretty soon anyway - he let go of the pot handle, making sure to do so slowly, so that it wouldn't tip over and fall into the fire.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing the stiffness out of his shoulder and arm, though if his arm had been shaking before, it wasn't solely because of the effort needed to keep it extended so.

"I should be thanking you," Clark told him, in an even tone.

"What ever for?" Bruce asked, looking up from his hand, from where he could still feel the warmth of Clark's touch.

"For having my back."

Bruce frowned and was about to repeat what he'd said the night before - that he hadn't done anything that Clark wouldn't have done for him in return, and that there was no point in thanking him for such a small thing - but he didn't get a chance to. Clark winced, his face contorted in pain and he pulled his arm back sharply.

"I forget I'm not invulnerable," he apologized, a light shade of pink coming to his cheeks suddenly.

Bruce silently noted that though Clark wasn't acting much like the Man of Steel, he wasn't really anything like the version of Clark Kent he was used to. He eyed him for a moment, unconsciously making a list of all the differences and similarities.

"What?" Clark asked, bringing him out of his musings.

"Oh, nothing," Bruce said, shrugging. "It's just... strange. Knowing. It's strange."

"Disillusioning, isn't it?" Clark frowned slightly. "Turns out I'm just a small time reporter - so mild mannered I blend in and hardly even get noticed at all."

Bruce frowned as well. "Look who's not giving himself much credit now," he said. He was rewarded by a shadow of a smile. "No... That's not it. It's just... odd. A _nice_ sort of odd."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking before as well." Clark smiled.

After a long, awkward silence, Bruce finally asked, "Think there's any chance your powers will return soon?"

Shaking his head sadly, Clark replied, "I don't know. I suppose it would help if there was a bit of sun outside, then I could...recharge, so to speak. But now..."

"Yeah, there's this little detail called a blizzard outside, I know." Bruce sighed dejectedly. "Looks like we might be stuck here for a while."

Clark thought for a moment, but there weren't a whole lot of alternatives to him flying them out of here. At least, none that he could think of at the moment. "Comm links are still dead?" he asked.

Bruce nodded. "All I get is static. I suppose I could probably get dressed again and go outside, try and walk back to Central City, or at least far enough to get a signal on the comm..."

"That's got ' _bad idea_ ' written all over it, Bruce," Clark said. His face wore an expression that was somewhere between concern and guilt.

"Looks like you've decided what to call me, after all," Bruce remarked. It was odd hearing Clark call him by his first name - as opposed to imagining he'd done so, as before. It felt...nice.

"You said that's what your friends call you... I figured..." Clark seemed to grow a little more uneasy with every word.

"You figured right," Bruce said, a smile spreading across his lips. "Water's boiling," he announced, having turned to look back at the fire.

Bruce reached out to take the mug he'd set on the side of the fireplace, then brought it over for Clark to pour some of the boiling water into it. He set it down. "Hang on, I'll get you a mug."

Clark watched as Bruce got up, noticing a few nasty looking bruises and scars on his arm and back when the sheet he was wearing as a cape skid down his shoulder again. When Bruce came back, Clark pointed to a mark on his forearm, which was now a really deep shade of purple.

"How badly hurt are you?" he asked. "That's a fresh one, isn't it? From... yesterday? The bolt of lightning that melted parts your armor must have left one hell of a mark..."

"I'm fine," Bruce said, swiftly covering his arm up after he'd set the second mug down between them. "You're the one who was badly injured. How are _you_ doing?"

"Mmm... I see Batman just came back," Clark remarked, pouring water into the empty mug. "Too bad, I was rather enjoying spending time with Bruce."

"Bruce Wayne is a _joke_ ," Bruce replied, brows furrowed. "He's just a façade, someone I pretend to be, because I have to. Batman is who I really am."

"Pity, that," Clark said. "Bruce has a sense of humor. And a nice smile. Besides, Batman likes to pretend he doesn't care, which is obviously not true."

"Must you always be this...nice?" At Clark's amused look, Bruce added, "It's very...infuriating."

"It is?" Clark absently pushed up the glasses that weren't there. Realizing they weren't, his eyes grew a little wide and he shrugged awkwardly, letting his hand drop back to his lap.

"Terribly." Bruce's cheeks started burning, as he realized that the most infuriating thing Clark had done so far...wasn't something he'd done at all. The most infuriating thing of all was seeing him, sitting there looking all clumsy and damn near adorable, in nothing but a bed sheet, his strong, muscular upper body exposed for anyone to see... Seeing him like that and realizing just how badly he wanted to touch him, to _have_ him, but not being able to do a blessed thing about it, _that_ was aggravating!

"Silly me, I forget that you like to pretend you're allergic to nice."

"Oh, shut up." Bruce dropped a few spoonfuls of instant coffee in both cups, then stirred the contents quickly. He set the spoon down and took a long sip from his cup.

Clark smirked. "I see I've struck a nerve."

"Shut up."

"Oh, twice in row," Clark said, biting back a laugh. "Wonder if I can make it three?"

Bruce sighed in frustration, holding back the 'shut up' that was burning his lips. He wasn't going to give Clark the satisfaction of being right. Instead, he gave him an angry look and said, "Aren't you supposed to be sick?"

But seemingly against all logic, Clark smiled at him. A nice, bright smile. An annoyingly _happy_ smile. Which, of course, only made Bruce angrier - and Clark smile more. Bruce was about to boil over with anger, when Clark finally spoke again.

"I always wondered what your eyes looked like when you got all worked up and bent out of shape," he said. "I kind of figured, even if you seem as cold as stone, you had to have some sort of passion in you...somewhere. Of course, if I'd known you were Bruce Wayne, I wouldn't have wondered so much."

"Right, 'cause you would have known all there is in there is the blank stare of a ditsy rich guy."

"No, that's definitely not what I was thinking," Clark replied, his eyes boring right through Bruce's. "Definitely not," he added in a lower, huskier voice, as he leaned in closer.

"What, uh-- what are you doing?" Bruce asked, swallowing nervously.

Clark smiled. "You know, for a brilliant detective, I think you're pretty damn blind." He leaned in even closer. "Very attractive, but blind...as a bat."

"Maybe I need you to open my eyes..." Bruce suggested as he closed the distance between them and their lips met.

From a first, shy caress, the kiss rapidly deepened into something much more heated and passionate, and soon they had toppled over to the floor in a mass of tangled limbs.

Clark made a small sound at the back of his throat, and suddenly Bruce pulled away. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Are you kidding?" One hand immediately flying to the back of Bruce's head, Clark pulled him back down again for another demanding kiss.

"Still... You're injured..." Bruce told Clark, as he trailed kisses across his jaw line and down his neck. "You should go back to bed..."

"You should come with me..."

=+=+=+=

The morning sun found them lying in bed, side by side.

"It's not snowing anymore," Clark commented, looking out the window.

"That's nice," Bruce replied flatly.

Clark turned and looked at him, concerned. He was about to ask what the matter was, when suddenly he realized that his super hearing was coming back. "My powers are coming back," he said, his face lighting up.

Bruce frowned. "How can you tell? Is it just something you can feel?" It didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to him, but then again, he had very little knowledge of how the Kryptonian body functioned - aside from the obvious.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Clark told him, nuzzling his neck.

"Oh." Bruce held back a sigh. "So you'll be _super_ again soon, then?"

"Hopefully." Clark brushed a kiss on Bruce's shoulder. "Why do you make it sound like it's a bad thing?"

"No, it's a good thing." Bruce smiled and traced along Clark's biceps with the tips of his fingers. "Super is a very good thing."

"What's wrong, then?" Clark looked over to him, brows creased in a worried frown.

"How much longer do you suppose the world can get along without us?" Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind having you all to myself for just a little longer."

Clark's face lit up again. "I like the way you think..."

"And I like the way you kiss," Bruce told him, leaning in closer with every word, "the way you taste, the way your skin feels against mine, the way--"

Their lips met, and the last of Bruce's words died in his throat as they shared the first of a long series of heated kisses.

> End.


End file.
